What About Now
by daisiesinthepages
Summary: Mikaela Banes was a talented little grease monkey and car thief. Then she sets her sights on the wrong Camaro. Or was it the right one? Everything gets confusing when nothing's as it seems, and it feels like she isn't even in control of her own life anymore. Slightly AU - Mikaela-centric - begins with the first movie - Bumblebee/Mikaela - no holoforms


**Title is taken from the Bon Jovi song**

 **A/N: Well... My Ultron story is doing my head in at the moment so I'm giving myself a break that will keep me in the writing groove. What better subject than my precious Bumblebee? Maybe this story has been done before, but I haven't seen anything like what I have in mind so I'll assume not.**

 **Remember, this is an AU that vaguely follows the movie events, but puts a more three dimensional Mikaela Banes in the slot of protagonist. Many events will be changed in order to facilitate the new plot. Its a Robot/Human romance without the appearance of holoforms, for those like me who just don't like them. Expounding on Mikaela's character so largely may cause her to seem a little OOC, but lets face it, she didn't HAVE much of a character before. I will note though, that in this story she displays almost mechaphilia. Thing is, before you throw things at me, she _doesn't_ have _sexual_ attraction to cars or anything of that matter. It may seem that way, but it's not. It's attraction _without_ the sexual side. Actually, for this story, which involves fated life bondmates, she's Ace up to the point where is in the position to form that bond.**

 **Any questions about characterization or plot, just ask in a review or PM and I'll answer everything I can.**

 **Without further ado, lets begin!**

* * *

The bloody Honda was seriously pissing her off. She was waist deep in the thing's engine and it wouldn't have been half as bad if the dumbass owner had looked after it at all in the last half a decade. Not that it was worth much to maintain. Who knowingly bought a '01 Civic anyway? Besides, why they didn't just dump it in the scrapheap when it bit the big one yesterday was beyond her, actually. Instead they chose to dump it in her ever-growing pile of problems. During this heatwave, she added to the thought, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and probably leaving a streak of grease. And she may or may not have currently been in the middle of the world's most sucky menstrual period. And she was flat broke, because the whole business just about was, and she would always be the _last_ person to get paid for the work she did. Just when she was starting to get to the bottom of her mental list of complaints, there was an unwelcome slap to her backside.

It was a reflex, really, that she immediately straightened, turned, and threw the spanner in her hand at the culprit with rage in the speed of the action. "You're a _jackass_ , Murphy. Touch me again and it'll be the last thing you ever do."

The middle aged man just laughed jeeringly as he rubbed his shoulder where the tool had made contact. "You say that every time, Mikie. What're you gonna do? Call your pops on me?"

Her eyes narrowed at him, but she grit her teeth. Yeah, like calling the clink was gonna do her a hell of a lot of good. "Does your wife know you like to harass sixteen year old girls in your spare time?"

"Calling it harassment is a stretch, don'tcha think? And I reckon she'll agree with me." He shook his condescendingly. "Little Mikie, always looking for attention. If you _really_ didn't want it you wouldn't dress like that."

She turned back to the Honda and flipped him the bird over her shoulder. "It's _hot_ outside, asshole. I dress for my comfort, not your feelings. Don't touch me again." It wasn't until she went to return to what she had been doing that Mikaela even realized that she still needed the spanner she had lobbed at him, and she flexed her hand a couple of time before forming it into a fist and weakly hitting the car that was actually the least of her worries. "Don't you have some _actual work_ you should be doing?" she bit out.

He replied with something that she didn't pay attention to, and then when his footsteps were well and truly away from her, she quickly retrieved the tool off the ground and tried to channel her frustration at life into hard work like she always did.

After all, she had a long night planned after the garage closed shop.

* * *

Leaning against the chain link fence, she tried to calm her breathing. It was after eleven at night, and there was no one out, beside her. It was an easy target. It would be as second nature as tying her shoe. Clad head to toe in a black long sleeved shirt and equally black cargo pants, despite the enduring humidity, she would be next to impossible to spot.

All these facts didn't mean that recently, with her dad in prison, this stuff didn't seem to get harder for her every time. She pulled her phone out of her pocket one more time to check that it was on airplane mode. The gazillionth time she had done so, but it did ease her anxiety a little.

"Okay, Mikaela," she told herself in a whisper, "get in, get a car, get out. You can do this." The teenager let out a deep sigh from her nose. "Right."

Without giving herself anymore time for doubts she took the heavy bolt cutters in her hands and chomped the chain locking the gates to the used car yard into uselessness. With a brief look of longing sent to the Porsche dealership across the street, she pushed the gates open, trying not to let them squeak, and slunk among the lemons looking for a hidden gem. Anything that would get them a few extra dollars in the bank.

Apparently Bobby Bolivia was not known for being choosy in what he packed, and likely knew next to nothing about cars, because as she surveyed what was available the grimace of distaste on her face just deepened. A piece of crap Suzuki sedan that had stick figures carved into the window tint, a Land Rover from the nineties that looked decent enough if you didn't count half the bonnet caved in and a door missing as a con, a yellow Beetle that was probably beyond redemption by the looks of it, and a- _shoot was that a Camaro_?

She raced over and knelt down in front of the car, checking over her shoulder for possible onlookers and setting the bolt cutters down beside her, then took a closer look. Hot damn, a '76 Chevy. It was no 1983 Ferrari or Ford Mustang Shelby, but for a last generation muscle car it was sweeter than she had expected to find hidden among the rest of the crap-on-wheels. The fading black racing stripes on yellow complemented the build of the car, but it wasn't exactly to her taste. She was a shiny black car kind of chick. Her fingers slid over the front of it, picking up dust, but enjoying the feel of the make. Regardless of personal taste, she couldn't help but see the beauty of it, and was fairly certain that she would be able to count this a job successful. Or, once she was in the thing and out of the lot, she would. It would almost be a pity to sell the beast, but her dad was counting on her to keep the business warm and running while he was gone, and she needed the cash fast. So, nice car or not, it was just another job to get done.

First, though, her suspicious nature reminded her to check under the hood. If it was just the hollow body it wasn't going to be doing her any good any time soon. "Okay, handsome, lets see what secrets you hide," she mumbled to herself, readying her hands. The pads of her long fingers only just made contact with the edge of the bonnet when her ears were assaulted.

Jumping back in fright and clamping her hands over her ears to block out the- what was it, some sort of wailing alarm?- just wasn't cutting it, and her startled mind took a second too long to register what was going on. A light had just come on in the neighbor's window. And she was standing here, next to the noisy car she had been about to steal.

Mikaela ran.

And she didn't stop running even to check over her shoulder until she got home. Or, rather, the cruddy flat she stooped to call home. Her fingers shook from the adrenaline and fear still coursing through her system, and so unlocking the door was more akin to threading a needle, and she dropped the the keys twice, cursing to herself each time. Her breath came in shallow gasps and her legs burned, so when she did manage to get inside and lock the door behind her, it was all she could manage for a moment to sink to the floor and lean against it. She winced and pressed a hand to her stomach. All that running couldn't be good for a person.

But she was was safe. She hadn't been caught. True, she was empty handed and had suffered a nasty fright, but at least she wasn't going back to juvie.

Her uncle wasn't home yet; he almost always turned up in the wee hours of the morning, being a truck driver who didn't mind a night shift. He was an okay enough guy, he looked out for her monetarily and filled out her paperwork at least, but with her school, his work, and their different sleeping schedules, it wasn't like she saw much of him. Better, really, seeing how she preferred her privacy. With a heavy sigh she pulled her sneakers off her feet and the backpack off her back and tossed them into a corner, then pushed herself to her feet. The thing everyone forgot to mention about adrenaline highs were the crashes that immediately followed. And boy, was she feeling it. Her legs felt like dead weights as she stumbled to her bedroom and flopped into the bed, not bothering to change even though the fabric clung to her body from sweat.

Exhaustion was quickly dragging her to sleep, but it wasn't until she was almost there that realization hit and her eyes shot open and her heart started racing anew.

She had left the bolt cutters behind.

And she was dead meat.

* * *

After a restless sleep that didn't last her weary bones nearly long enough, her eyes didn't want to open, especially with the bright sunlight pouring onto her face through the window. To make things even more unpleasant, the feeling of waking naturally when you know it should have been to the sound of an alarm usually tends to be one full of trepidation. Mikaela bit her lip and hesitantly reached for her phone, activating the screen. 8:23.

"Oh, _crap_!"

That sure as hell woke her up.

She sprung from the mattress and tore her clothes from last night off in a screaming rush, and pulled on whatever was at the top of her draw, zipping up her shorts with her toothbrush in her mouth then brushing her hair while she threw her car jacking supplies out of her bag to replace with high school textbooks. Though she made record time in getting ready, being late was a given with her currently transportation-less situation. When they nabbed her dad for car theft they nabbed his cars, too, for the obvious reason. It left her walking to school every day she missed the bus, which was most days, but what did the cops care of how they screwed over young girls' lives?

She did the math in her head as she locked the door and started jogging up the hill. Thirty minutes there at a walk, fifteen at a run. With her strained calf muscles after her run last night, there was no chance in hell she was going at anything faster than an uncoordinated trot. Late-shmate.

As she predicted, when she finally managed to take her seat in first period she was met with a venomous glare from the teacher, though besides a snicker or two from the students around her she managed to get off Scott free for this one. They probably assumed she had been up late with Trent. She rolled her eyes. If that were the case, why on Earth hadn't she arrived with him in his new car? Nobody here seemed to have a stick of common sense. It made her smirk to herself, though, while she tuned out what the teacher was saying about the upcoming summer classes available. She almost would 'stay up late with Trent' for a ride in that car. It was the only reason she put up with him, after all. A good ride of a different kind than what he was after.

Yeah, sure, she would condescend to be his arm candy and bat her lashes or whatever it was he expected of his walking set of boobs. His taste in cars and his money may have been his only redeeming qualities, but for now they were enough for her. She never had to put out, because the promise of it was good enough to get what she wanted, and the hell if she cared whether he took on any side action. That was his problem.

It was hard to believe that people still assumed she was the stupid one out of the two of them, when she had the whole situation wrapped around her little finger so tightly. Actually, she was such a finicky little control freak that mistakes like setting off alarms or forgetting incriminating items at a would-be crime scene was just not something she did. And last night was two strikes added to her near-perfect record. Days Without Accident: back to freakin' zero.

The shrill bell to mark the end of the class and the impending start of the next one made her flinch, too reminiscent of that damn car's alarm, oddly enough as the sounds were so different. The alarm had been more like an air raid siren for Pete's sake. With a brand new grimace on her face she slung her backpack over one shoulder and joined the stampede of hormonal teenagers on their way to another class of useless droning. Teaching them to _be_ useless drones. That can do algebra and recite Shakespeare.

"Hey, babe," came the voice of that one particular annoyance she couldn't quite tell to get lost. Trent. She suppressed the eye roll that screamed to surface, and instead plastered a grin on her face and looked at him.

"Good morning, baby," she replied, drawing out the vowel sounds in a way the made his pupils dilate. Too easy. She looped her arms around one of his as they walked. They shared only two classes, this one that the were heading to, and the other being the last period today. Thank goodness, she didn't think she could stand his presence for much more than that. Just the thought made her want to throw up in her mouth a little bit.

"Where were you last night? I tried calling you." There was suspicion in his tone that he didn't even bother trying to hide. She scrunched up her nose. As unpleasant as he was, she wasn't finished with him yet, and having him dump her prematurely over his possessive, entitled nature wasn't something she had planned. When she cut this off it was going to be on her terms.

She looked up at him and blinked her puppy dog eyes. "Oh, gosh, sorry baby, my phone ran flat and I just realized I forgot to turn it back on when I charged it." Despite the fact that he smelt like sweat and too much men's deodorant she rested her head on his shoulder. "I don't mean to make you worry." The lies flowed off her tongue like honey.

A smirk spread across his mouth and she knew that she had successfully dodged that bullet. "Well," he started huskily, "if you stayed with me I wouldn't have to call you to find out if you wanted to come over."

"Trent, I told you, my uncle is super protective, and he has a really strict curfew." _He doesn't give a damn what I do or don't do and is never home to find out, anyway._

"Then just sneak out."

"Maybe I will." _Like hell I'd give up sleep for your stupid ass_.

"I'll look forward to it, babe." He gave her ass a squeeze and it took everything within her to grit her teeth and keep up the charade rather than tear him a new one. "You coming to the lake tonight?"

Mikaela raised an eyebrow, finally hearing something she wanted to hear. "You gonna give me a lift?"

"Of course."

"Then I'll be there."

* * *

If she had known that the ride to the party was going to be in the backseat jammed in against Trent's obnoxious friends and their girls she would have said no. Nothing was worth this. As soon as they pulled up her door was open and she was clambering out, desperate to gain some personal space. Her eyes dragged over the buffed black body of the car, the chrome hubbed twenty-twos, her reflection in the finish. She had been with Trent for three months now, and never once had he let her drive it. Never once had she been able to so much as peek under the hood. At first she had thought it would be a privilege awarded with time, but despite her best efforts she had gotten no closer. Back when she had patience for him just listening to that idiot go on and on about it and getting to ride in the passenger seat was enough. Not anymore. Nothing was worth all this trouble.

Actually, that Camaro last night had been worth some trouble. Not juvie trouble, but trouble. It was strange how a car that she had only felt mild interest for when she first saw it, how it had been a recurring subject of her thoughts that day. A shame it had been so dark, would've been nice to get a real look at the thing. A sigh escaped her lungs. She was almost tempted to go back and try again, but the fear of being caught shooed the notion away pretty quick smart. After her failed break-in yesterday, doubtless they would have set up some better security. Hell, they might already be investigating her if they found her cutters at the scene. The thought made a lump of cold anxiety settle in her gut. Time to just accept the fact that she wasn't going to see that vintage muscle car again any time soon.

A sick sounding engine rumble made her look up over Trent's shoulder, and then her mouth parted slightly. _Speak of the devil_. Seeing that damn car pull up was either really good karma, or really bad. Could it really be the same one? She watched with interest when the doors opened, to see who would step out, and felt deflated when it was two goofballs she remembered vaguely from school. If she really was going to drop Trent and his truck to chase after the Mr. Long, Square and Racing Stripes, she at least wished it would be with an owner a little more... not-social-life-destroying. Still, easy game. She chewed on her lip, unable to come to a decision while she glanced between the vehicles. Trent had different interest in them.

She didn't really know the poor suckers that her pseudo-boyfriend chose to pick on, she didn't care further than a vague sense of pity for them. Trent was mostly bark; if they just rolled over and exposed their bellies- figuratively, of course- he would leave them alone. It was a dominance thing. Problems only arose when someone refused to back down.

Mikaela hadn't really been paying attention to the interchange as soon as the word 'football' had been uttered, her instant zone-out trigger, but when the atmosphere changed and Trent stepped forward menacingly she knew it was time to step in before there was blood. She placed herself between him and his would-be victim and placed a hand on his chest. "Okay, okay, you know what? Stop." She could feel the resistance against her palm for a moment, but then he looked at her, smirked, and eased off. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and walked back to the car. She knew the drill by now, they would scatter and meet somewhere else now the mood had been ruined, probably somewhere with more booze, where Trent would try and get some payment from her for standing down. Sure sounded like fun. If he wanted anything it was gonna cost him a lot more than that.

Turning to give him her most winning smile, she asked yet again, "Hey, how about you let me drive?" _Time for a pop quiz, buddy. Your last chance_.

"Oh, no, no no no." _Oops, wrong answer._ "This is not a toy. And these twenty-twos? I don't want you grinding them. No." _Bottom of the class, again, Trent_. "Now, why doesn't my little bunny just hop into the back seat?" _Ooh, looks like it's expulsion for you._

Half a chuckle escaped her mouth as she looked away, feeling a virile mix of bitter resentment and amusement at his blatant stupidity. "Oh, man, I can't even _tell_ you how much I'm _not_ your little bunny," she told him with her favorite fake giggle as she shrugged her shoulders. As soon as she turned her back on him and began to stride away, the expression of air-headed excitement that she had been forced to wear in public for so long dropped away. _So tired of this crap_.

As much as part of her felt this inexplicable draw to make her move on whats-his-face, get into that '76 Cam', pull it apart and put it back together, learn how it runs and make it run better, every other part of her was exhausted, and worried that one day she'll end up where her dad is, and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and never have to reduce herself to a bumbling mess for some boy ever again. There would be other cars, and one day, she'll have her own. Her chest swelled with anticipation as she imagined it. No more self-degradation, no more morons thinking they knew more than her just because she was a girl, so more facade of smiles and eyelashes and sultry voices. Just her and her ride.

Trent said something that didn't she acknowledge, around her people were packing up to move onto the real fun, and she paid them no mind either. The faint music only slightly interested her mind because it was to her taste, but even that didn't make it to the front of her thoughts. Until it grew louder and closer and was accompanied by the squeal of tires. "Mikaela!" Definitely not Trent. She looked over to her left. Apparently that car was either stalking her or haunting her, because she couldn't think of a reason why that guy from before was puttering along beside her and calling her name. "It's Sam. Witwicky? Hope I didn't get you stranded or anything."

Crap, she saved him from a beating and now he thought there was something more than general decency behind it. She brought her eyes forward again, not willing to respond.

"Hey, listen I was wondering if I could ride you home- I mean, give you a ride home. In my car. To your house." He was another hormonal idiot, and she definitely wasn't going to get back into anything so soon after that last jackass. However, she was exhausted physically and emotionally, it was a ten mile hike back home, and it was that sweet car. She guessed she could stand the company for a little while. She stopped and opened the door, sliding into the passenger seat. At least he didn't expect her to sit in the back.

As the engine started with an impressive purr for such an old, dodgy looking thing, she settled into the leather upholstery, surprised how comfortably the chair molded into her back. The inside matched the outside for looks, though. Faded, dusty, in need of a serious detailing, but it seemed to be all original, so that was a good thing. Except, she noted, the badge on the steering wheel, once she caught a glimpse of it past whats-his-face's arm. It wasn't anything she was familiar with, a blocky face design, probably some collector's custom mark. It was only of slight interest.

She let out a sigh as she dragged her pointer finger up and down where the door met the window absentmindedly. "I can't believe that I'm here right now," she muttered to herself.

"You can duck down if you want. I mean, it won't hurt my feelings," the guy told her, and she quickly amended herself, apologetic for sounding rude when he was being harmless enough.

"Oh, no, no, no, I didn't mean- I didn't mean here with _you_ , I meant here, like, in this situation. The same situation that I'm always in." And it was true, she didn't get it. This was so similar to how things with Trent started out. Sure, she had been a major instigator, but she didn't know why she kept putting herself through this. "I guess I just have a- a _weakness_ for-" _hot cars with fast engines and deep roars_ , "-for hot guys with tight abs, and- and big arms." _Great save, Mik._

Her hand had moved to the seat beside her leg, and her fingernails had dug into the leather with her almost-slip up. She released grip and leaned forward, bracing her forearms on the dashboard. The heat was killing her and making it difficult to think. Shame this thing didn't have working air-con. Oh, he was talking again. She glanced over and tried to keep the wince off her face. He was doing some thing where he was trying to casually flex his noodle-y arm while he blabbered some rubbish about lights and disco balls. "Huh," was all she managed to say without seeming too... anything other than tolerant. Silence descended on them again.

 _He's giving you a ride home, Mik, at least make small talk so he doesn't feel so awkward_. And so she did, she put herself on autodrive and asked him about school and whether they had classes together, and she did finally recall his name- it was Sam- but she didn't have the energy to invest much into the conversation. _How much longer until we get there_? She laid her palms flat against the dash and dragged them into fists to feel her nails scraping over the surface to distract herself, like twiddling her thumbs, but all of a sudden there was a rush of even hotter air filling the car while it puttered and rolled to a dead stop to the side of the road. A Marvin Gaye song blared from the radio that had come on for some reason, _Sexual Healing_ , to be precise. Mikaela Banes was not in the mood.

Until, of course, she saw the opportunity in the mess. Sam was stammering some sort of apology and defense while she focused on getting her hair up and out of her face. The station switched.

 _ **-I feel good, I knew that I wouldn't of...So good, so good, I got you!-**_

"Just pop the hood," she told him simply as she climbed out of the car. A well of excitement settled in her as she lifted it, and she wasn't disappointed by what she found inside. "Wow, nice headers." She hadn't been really saying it to Sam, but when he joined her at the front of the car she realized it would seem odd if she wasn't. "You've got a high-rise, double pump carburetor. That's... pretty impressive, Sam." She hadn't expected him to have such an eye for gear.

There was a pause before he asked, "Double pump?" And, apparently, she had been right not to expect such.

She tried not to sound exasperated as she explained, "It squirts the fuel in so you can go faster."

"I like to go faster," he said, but she knew where his head was and didn't dignify the comment with a response.

Her eyes explored every inch of the thing, trying to find a fault, something out of place. Most of it was immaculate. "Your, ah, your distributor cap is a little loose," she informed him idly as she tried to tighten it the last little bit. The car shuddered, probably settling on its tires or something. Honestly, even Mikaela with her keen eye for detail couldn't find a reason for the old Chevy to have stalled like that. At least, the fault couldn't be seen from here.

"Yeah? How'd you know that?"

She grimaced slightly at the question and turned to him, "Uh, my dad, he was a- he was a real grease monkey. He taught me all about this; I could take it all apart, clean it, put it back together."

"That's weird," he responded, as one did, "I just wouldn't peg you for a mechanical."

"Well, you know, I don't really broadcast it," she said with an edge to the tone, pulling a face. "Guys don't like it when you know more about cars than they do. Especially not Trent. He hates it." She was almost proud of it, though. Emasculating men like him by being better at something thought they owned was one of her favorite hobbies.

"You know, I'm cool with females working on my engine. I prefer it, actually." _Yeah, sure_.

She gave him a blank look. "Well, you want to fire it up for me?" While he hurried to the drivers seat to give the machine a go, he made the rookie mistake of talking while the mechanic was trying to listen to the engine, and what was worse, he was asking questions she didn't want to answer.

"If Trent's such a jerk, then why do you hang out with him?"

 _The same reason I was willing to hang out with you_. She exhaled from her nose, hearing nothing but wheezes from the car and shook her head slightly. "Y'know, I think I'm just gonna walk." She stepped back from the Cam' and gave it one last, long look. And then she turned and started walking away. It wasn't worth going through all of that again, not for anything. "Good luck with your car."

And she did get about ten meters away without interruption or second thoughts.

 _ **-Baby, come back. Any kind of fool could see,-**_

"Hey!" Sam yelled as he slammed the hood down and started the car that had miraculously come good as soon as she started to leave. So it was all some sort of sick ploy on that guy's part. Typical.

 _ **-There was something in everything about you.-**_

Still, with that engine's purr and dust clouds forming from its spinning wheels while that stupid song played on its radio, she couldn't stifle the smile that tugged at her lips and she gave in, looking over her shoulder and slowing the slightest bit.

 _ **-Baby, come back. You can blame it all on me. I was wrong, and I just can't live without you.-**_

* * *

The rest of the drive Mikaela felt much more relaxed. Sam, of course, assumed this was his personal achievement, but she couldn't hold that against him. The boost to his ego actually made him better company, because he loosened up enough to stop with the stammering and the worst of his painful social-ineptitude.

A yawn escaped her mouth, which she hastily covered with her hand. For a moment she considered whether it would be worth lying down in the back to sleep for the last few minutes drive, but she quickly shooed that lapse of good judgment.

Still, she spared a look behind at the seat for curiosity's sake.

Her eyes widened and the blood drained from her face. "Hey, Sam," she started, trying to keep her tone neutral, "what's with the bolt cutters in the back?"

He didn't seem to notice anything was up, and shrugged in response. "I dunno, it was in there when I bought the car after school."

"Oh, okay. Weird thing to get free with a used car."

"Yeah, goodness only knows where they came from or what they were used for, right?"

She forced herself to join in with his laugh, "Right." _Actually, I used them to break in to the dealership where I was hoping to steal your car. I don't know how they ended up in here, but it definitely saved me from having to worry about the police showing up on my door. Again._

Before she even registered that they had pulled into her street he was asking which house was hers. Home already. The old Camaro pulled over to the side of the road, and she found she was disappointed that it was over. She _was_ , though, looking forward to catching up on missed sleep.

"There it is," Sam stated the obvious, like she wouldn't recognize her own home.

"Thank you, I had fun." It wasn't even a total lie. "So, thanks for listening." _And being one of the few people with the guts to agree with me when I point out what an asshole Trent is._

He said, "Yeah," but didn't seem to know what further to add.

There was one question she felt she could ask him though, something that wasn't beyond a relative stranger to her. "Hey, do you think I'm shallow?" It wasn't like her to need reassurance about anything, but so much of her personality recently had been shaped around trying to get on Trent's good side, and he definitely liked his girls shallow, stupid, and good looking. She felt the need to know that she hadn't permanently ruined her chances of a reputation.

He seemed stunned by the question. "Do I think you're sh-? No, nonono. I think, um, there's a lot more than meets the eye... with you."

A line that bad had to bring a smile to her face. "Okay."

"Yeah."

"Well," she said as she pulled the door handle, "I'll see you at school."

"Right." Apparently he had been reduced to monosyllabic answers. Her amused smile widened and she stepped out of the car, heading for her front door, but looking over her shoulder at the vehicle every few steps. Then, when she was inside, she watched from the window until they had driven out of sight. A strange emotion settled in her gut, and it produced only one coherent thought.

She had to get that car.

* * *

 **A/N: So, what do you think, too much? She thinks about cars a lot, apparently. It is, like, her biggest interest in this story, and this is a very special car. From this point the story diverts strongly from the original, so be warned. Sam exists, but only has brief and minor rolls. I really just chopped him out of everything I could.**

 **Any robot lovers head over to my Ultron story, 'cuz I know from experience how hard it is to get decent human/robot relationship stories, even in fanfiction.**

 **Thanks for reading this monster, please leave any and all thoughts in the box below!**


End file.
